


Wine and Dine

by orphan_account



Category: Speed Skating RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Apolo is a food critic and JR is a waiter in the Bay Area.  Cameos from Jordan and Travis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine and Dine

One of the first rules of being a food critic was to not go to restaurants alone.  Having one or two other people meant the critic could sample more menu items in a single trip, and some foodie snobs discussing their meal was much less obvious than sitting alone with a notebook, scribbling between bites.  However, the upside of ignoring this rule was that most restaurateurs  expected critics to come with others and when Apolo came in with a stack of scholarly books on Medieval Heresy and tells the maitre’d that he will be dining alone, the man simply clears the second place setting from a quiet table in the corner, tells him his server will be with him shortly and leaves him alone. 

 

It’s Apolo’s first stop on his new beat in the Bay Area.  His editor had thought for a good first splash, rather than try to say something new about the most famous restaurants in San Francisco he should go to some newer places that were generating buzz just outside the city.  And now he was sitting at Fil-Am, an Asian fusion restaurant in Berkeley that was getting some positive word-of-mouth buzz for its twists on Filipino classics, and its Asian-Spanish-American flavor combinations. As his server approached, he artfully scattered a few marked up articles across the other side of the table and pulled out his notebook.

 

The young man carefully filled his water glass and handed him a menu.  “Good afternoon, sir, my name is JR and I will be your server.  I’ll give you some time to look at our menu, but could I start you off with a drink?  On a nice early spring day like this, I would recommend one of our sweeter chardonnays.”

 

Apolo looked up at the waiter and was surprised at how young the man standing next to his table looked. Before he could stop himself blurted out, “Are you even old enough to know the wine list well?” which was terribly rude, but his waiter—JR—only smiled.

 

“I’ll be 23 in a few months, and all of the Fil-Am staff have an excellent knowledge of both the wine list and menu.”

 

Apolo hated sweet wine, but he was here to critique both the restaurant and the staff so he agreed to JR’s suggestion, and the boy walked away.  Apolo pretended to look at the menu but he had already studied the weekly menu on the website and chosen his order. 

 

More quickly than he would have expected, given the crowd of diners finishing lunch (Apolo purposefully came at the end of the lunch rush—that was the true test of a good restaurant), JR returned with his glass of wine, which he set down in one of the few empty spots on the table.  Good waiters simply did their jobs and heeded subtle cues from the diner as to whether they were interrupting a conversation, or if the diner had had sufficient time to look at the menu.  Apolo did not look up, signaling he was not ready to order yet but JR didn’t walk away.

 

“Um, I suggested a sweeter chardonnay but after a second thought, you look more like a dry wine fan, so I hope you don’t mind that I picked a different chardonnay for you.  I mean, you agreed to my suggestion, and I thought it was more my recommendation than the actual suggestion you agreed to, so it would be okay to change it.”

 

Obviously JR wasn’t that good of a waiter.

 

Apolo looked up at him, and he looked genuinely concerned over Apolo’s choice of wine.  “I’m sure it will be fine, and you’re right, generally I do prefer a dryer wine.”

 

The smile on the boy’s face was practically blinding, as if he had grown and fermented the grapes in Apolo’s glass himself.

 

“Great! Well, if you are ready to order, I can take it now, or give you a moment to consider while you enjoy your wine.”  JR seemed to be trying his hardest to act like a quiet professional, the attitude of most upper level waiters, but wasn’t quite succeeding.

 

Apolo decided to just go ahead and order a starter of deconstructed lumpia and an entrée of pansit.  JR wrote it down, then hesitated like he was going to say something, then just nodded and walked off.  Apolo started taking notes about the décor, how long the other diners seemed to be waiting for drink refills, and what menu items were popular, while sipping his (very good) wine when JR appeared again.  Was he the only table this kid waiting on?  Didn’t he look busy?  He looked up exasperated at the interruption to see JR nervously playing with the string on his apron.  He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

 

“The pansit is usually really good, it’s one of my favorites, but we just ran out of our homemade pasta and had to switch to dried.” He said it all in a rush.  “So it will probably be good, but not as good as it usually is, and I thought I would tell you just in case you wanted to change your order.”

 

“I’ll chance it with the dried pasta.”  JR nodded and left again.  Really, how many diners would have even noticed the difference?  Apolo would, but he had a trained palate and five years of professional food criticism under his belt.  And what was with the worried act?  He wasn’t the president or something, he was just a guy eating a late lunch alone, which hardly merited this level of concern.

 

The appetizer was delicious, instead of the traditional wrapped up rolls, the meat was in a pile on one side, with crispy won-tons on the other and an artful swirl of spices and oils in the middle.  Blended together it had the perfect lumpia combination of moist-crispy-spicy.  The pansit was equally well-flavored and with the exception of the slightly too-tough pasta, it tasted fresh and perfect. 

 

JR cleared his plate, let out the distractingly bright grin when Apolo confirmed his meal had been fine, and brought the check.  Apolo always paid cash to avoid revealing his identity, and was authorized to tip 18%.  He hesitated, thinking about how the boy had broken almost every rule of being a waiter at a high class establishment and weighing that against the beautiful smile and honest worry over Apolo’s meal.  He tipped 20%, gathered up his books and left.

 

Since he chose to dine alone, it did mean in order to get a full array of the restaurant’s offering he’ll have to go back, but Apolo thinks of that as being thorough.  He likes to go for one lunch (preferably towards the end), one weeknight dinner, and one weekend dinner.  So a few nights later he goes back, and is surprised to see JR at his table again—after the first meal he had assumed the kid was green and only worked day shifts. 

 

“Good to see you back, sir.” He begins, and Apolo thinks he must either be the nicest waiter he’s ever met or a really good actor because he genuinely looks thrilled Apolo is there.

 

“It’s a bit chilly tonight, so I would recommend a Spanish red with some really bold spicy flavors.”  He says it blandly, like this is his wine recommendation for every table, but his eyes are dancing, and Apolo suddenly feels like it’s a challenge, and he’s always loved competition so he goes ahead and orders a bottle, which makes the younger man smirk.

 

Again, he has his books and papers as props, and again, JR seems to ignore his deep-in-thought routine when he comes back with his wine.

 

“So are you a student or professor?” JR asks, setting down the wine, and pulling out his notebook.  “You look old enough to be a professor but young enough that you could still be in grad school.”  He then seems to realize what he just said and blushes just a bit, though it’s hard to tell under his brown skin.

 

Usually Apolo would just lie and say he’s a visiting scholar or something, but this boy has been so honest, wringing his hands over store-bought pasta that the lie won’t come out.  “I—uh—am really just interested in history.” He says lamely.  “And the Middle Ages are interesting.”  God it’s a bad story, but JR seems to buy it at least.

 

“Well, I just graduated from Berkeley and history was one of my favorite subjects. I majored in Sociology though.  No wonder I work at a restaurant.”  He then seemed to remember that he was talking to a customer and took Apolo’s order (Mahi-Mahi cooked with saffron over traditional root vegetables from the Philippines and some sort of clams steamed with greens in copper pots from the Basque region of Spain. JR seems to approve both choices, and although he wouldn’t usually pair a red wine with seafood, the spices of the dish (never so strong as to smother the delicate flavor of the protein, more complementary) stand up well to the wine, and Apolo is pleasantly surprised by JR’s choice.

 

Again, the food is excellent, and Apolo has written down some phrases in his notebook that he feels are perfect for his first review, but when JR comes to clear his plate he pauses.  “So if you’re just reading for enjoyment, you aren’t visiting, but you’re here alone.  You prefer Fil-Am to Café Strada, or your friends aren’t into inventive cuisine?”  He says it in a light-hearted way, but Apolo hears the more serious question underneath. 

 

“Well, I enjoy fine dining, and I’m new in town.”  He thinks this is a suitably vague answer considering that his waiter really shouldn’t be asking personal questions at all. 

 

JR nods understandingly.  “Yeah, since my college friends moved, it’s been hard to meet people. I live with a couple guys I skate with, but I need time away from them.”

 

“Skate?”

 

“Yeah, I speed-skate on ice, I used to be pretty good, but I got sidelined by an injury.  Still, I love to race.  That’s why I’ve got this crazy big ass.”  He seemed to realize at that point that he had just invited Apolo to stare at his ass, and blushed.

 

He takes the plates away and brings the check.  Apolo leaves cash again and gets up to leave.  Before he’s quite out the door, JR appears beside him one last time, a bit breathless.

 

“What’s your name?”  JR asks.  “I mean, if you come again, I should call you something besides ‘sir’ because you’ll practically be a regular.”

 

Apolo hesitates.  His name is his stock and trade, in certain circles it’s very well known, and it’s not exactly a common name.  He answers anyway, and reaches his hand out.  “Apolo.”  JR shakes it and grins that mega-watt grin again. 

 

“Pleased to meet you.” He says, gripping Apolo’s hand firmly.

 

When Apolo comes the third time he isn’t surprised that the maitre’d leads him past plenty of suitable tables to a particular two seater that just happens to be in JR’s section.  It’s Friday night and the place is packed.  This will be another big test, on a really busy night, will Fil-Am be in the weeds, will the food taste blasé or will they continue their winning streak.  JR’s eyes look tired when he comes to Apolo’s table, but he brightens upon seeing Apolo, and without even asking, he brings him a very good caipirinha, then recommends that the calamari would be a good salty combination with the sweetness of his drink.  It comes in strips instead of rings and is tender rather than chewy, with a hint of lime in the batter.

 

JR, despite the number of tables he’s working, checks on Apolo frequently, and always with a smile.  When he leaves the receipt this time, there is a phone number on it, and a note saying _If you want someone to show you around, call me._  Apolo leaves his money and tip and leaves quickly frowning.  Nineteen-year-old girls at Chili’s leave their phone numbers.  Professional waiters at restaurants hoping for Michelin stars do not.  He’s thankful this was his last visit, and that he won’t have to have any kind of awkward confrontation with JR again.  He can just write his piece and move on to covering restaurants in Emeryville and Pleasant Hill and Oakland and not have to deal with Fil-Am, and its beguiling tastes, or JR and his beguiling beauty (fuck, he did not think that), or Berkeley and its beguiling flowers and palm trees and slight hint of weed in the air.

 

He keeps the receipt, even after he makes a copy for his reimbursement, and he tells himself he’s not ever going to actually call some waiter he doesn’t know, no matter how cute he was, or how bright his eyes were, or how much heat he gets in his stomach thinking about him.

 

_Apolo Anton Ohno started reviewing restaurants after legendary food critic Antoine Ego heard him give a visceral critique of a vinaigrette that had broken.  He has worked in Atlanta, GA, Salt Lake City, UT, Seattle, WA and is now our full-time food critic._

_Fil-Am has received quite a bit of attention from foodies and locals alike for their delicious Filipino and Spanish food, often with a modern American twist.  Their seafood, meat, and umami inspired dishes all delight the palate, and whether you go for lunch or dinner, you are likely to encounter a beautifully displayed meal that would meet the standard of almost any critic.  With the exception of an overuse of cilantro in the otherwise perfect saviche, Fil-Am delivers a lovely atmosphere with little of the technical trickery too commonly misused in modern restaurants.  Instead, the flavors speak for themselves, and dishes are given the proper amount of attention for flavor to build and peak on the plate.  While the service may not be up to the standard of some other highly sought out Bay Area restaurants…_

“Hey, JR! Did you see this review?”  Christopher, the chef and owner, is waving the paper around.  “It’s really good, I mean, about the food, this guy is a little snippy about the service, but what can you expect about some asshole named after a Greek God?  Do you recognize these dishes?  Have any groups that came in and ordered them?” 

 

JR froze.  Greek God?  Apolo?  Snippy about the service?  FUCK.

 

He stammers out that he doesn’t remember any groups (that’s true enough) and then spends the rest of his shift distracted by the memory of this man eating with thoughtful bites, surrounded by books, who JR kept playfully suggesting drinks to and flirted with, and GOD he gave him his number, which was so unprofessional he had never even considered it before, but something about that guy had just got to him. Firstly, he was hot with the longish-hair and the stupid soul patch that would have looked like he was trying too hard on some people but on Apolo, it looked like he just didn’t give a fuck about what other people thought.  JR had given a FOOD CRITIC his PHONE NUMBER.  Dear God, why was he such an ass?  The more he thought about it, the more pissed off he got, but then somewhere half-way into his shift he just got pissed.  That guy had lied to him!  Pretending to be some kind of Medieval scholar while scribbling notes about the food and JR.  He wasn’t cute and intriguing, he was a dick.  And  he deserved to know that.

 

After his shift (he usually got off early on Wednesdays for skating), JR went home to change and tell his roommates he wasn’t going with them to the rink, then headed out the door.  JR used the time it took on BART to get from Downtown Berkeley to Civic Center, where Apolo’s office was, according to the paper, to calm back down again and plan out what he wanted to say that wouldn’t sound petulant, but would get his point across.  The newspaper building was big and slightly intimidating.  JR suddenly felt ridiculous and young going into a major business in skinny jeans and a zip up hoodie, but he reminded himself that he was there for a reason, recalled Apolo’s words about him, _“The waitstaff at Fil-Am is as knowledgeable as one would expect, but is perhaps slightly too involved and clingy to be called excellent servers…expect service with a smile and a few overly personal questions…” _He got angry and embarrassed again just thinking about it.  However, he covered it at the receptionists desk, and flashed a big, friendly smile while telling the girl he couldn’t remember which way Apolo’s office was.  She pointed it out to him, and he shrugged his shoulders a few times to psych himself up for the coming confrontation.  When he found Apolo’s office, the door was open and he could see him pacing while looking out the window and tapping a pen against his wrist.  Far from the professorial look (jeans, t-shirt, blazer) he had worn at Fil-Am, he was wearing a slim, fitted suit, hair tidily arranged.  JR was working up to announce himself but for a second all he could think was that Apolo was shorter than he had expected while standing and was hotter than he remembered.  Just as he was opening his mouth, Apolo looked up and saw him, surprise immediately illuminating his face.

 

“JR!  Um, what are you doing here?”  Apolo just stood there staring at him for a moment before regaining his bearings and gesturing for him to come in, and shutting the clear door behind him.  Apolo went around to sit behind his desk.  JR didn’t sit.

 

“You lied to me, you dick.”  Apolo flinched but JR continued, “You acted like you were some kind of scholar, and you flirted with me, and you let me act like a total loser, and even when I freaking gave you my number you didn’t tell me you were a critic!  You were done with Fil-Am, you could have said something, so I wouldn’t have to find out when my boss showed me your stupid review!”  JR knew he was probably red, and he was usually really good natured, and suddenly this angry outburst seemed to take a lot out of him, and he sank into one of the chairs in front of Apolo’s desk.

 

“If you think you acted like a loser, it’s not like I LET you do anything.  I just ate at your restaurant, it’s not like there is some kind of sacrosanct bond between diner and waiter.”  Apolo knew he sounded defensive, and he was, because he had wondered if JR would see the review and know it was him, and the kid (he looked so young sitting in Apolo’s fancy office) had taken it personally.  “And I didn’t flirt with you.”  Shit, that just made it seem more obvious that he knew he had (what had he been thinking?).

 

“Like hell you didn’t.  I was nice to you, and thought you seemed nice, and you made me look like a tool.  God, I can’t believe I even came here to tell you this, obviously if you had any sense of decency you wouldn’t have written it in the first place.”  He launched himself out of the chair and turned to the door.

 

“Wait!”  Apolo stood up and walked over to him.  “I won’t apologize for what I wrote, because it was true, and I won’t apologize for being undercover, it’s part of my job, but I did get too personal with you too.  I never use my real name, I don’t even know why I wanted to tell you, and I should have stayed more aloof.” He paused.  “And maybe I should have called you before the article came out.”  JR nodded tersely and walked out of the office without looking back.

 

The next night when he gets home from work and throws his keys on the table, Travis shouts to him from the couch, where he’s eating Pringles and watching TV, “Hey dude, some sharp-looking guy brought something by for you.  It’s in that bag on the counter.”

 

JR sees the bag, a tall, thin gift bag and pulls out a bottle of Chardonnay—fuck, a really nice bottle of Chardonnay—and a note. 

 

_I’m sorry we didn’t meet under better circumstances.  If you would like to start over, call me._

_Apolo A. Ohno_

A phone number was scribbled on the back.  Apolo had come to his grotty apartment and met Travis and left an expensive apology gift.  He wandered into the common room, still clutching the bottle of wine. 

 

Travis looked up.  “That what was in the bag? Nice man, where’d you meet a dude like that?  Does he wanna be your sugar daddy?” At this, JR blushed and plopped down next to him.

 

“Shut up Travis.  It’s just from this guy I met okay?” 

 

Travis raised an eyebrow.  “Just this guy?  Just this guy meets you and feels compelled to find out where you live and bring you a gift?  That sounds like a stalker-loser and this guy did not look like a loser.  HEY JORDAN!” he yelled “GET OFF FACEBOOK AND COME IN HERE. JR NEEDS LOVE ADVICE!”

 

JR groaned as his other roommate came out of his room.

 

“Hey, remember how I told you that guy came by with the gift for JR?  It’s wine, and JR is claiming it’s nothing.  We need the real story.”  Travis shifted on the couch, to face JR more fully and muted the TV.

 

“Okay JR, out with the full story.  Or else that drunk video I took last month gets public.” 

 

“Jordan, that is blackmail.”

 

“Dude, it’s negotiation.  Either spill your guts to your roommates about what’s up with wine-guy or the entire world gets to see you drunkenly stammering about how you want some guy’s soul patch rubbing all over your body.”

 

Suddenly Travis’ eyes got huge.  “It’s the same guy! The guy with the wine had a soul patch!  JR!  You like that guy, why are you acting all weird?”

 

JR put his face into the arm of the coach.

 

“Dude, it’s this or the internet.”

 

He raised his head again.  “Okay.  He turned out to be a food critic, and he wrote some shitty stuff about me in the paper, and I was pissed that he lied to me and made me look bad, and that’s why I skipped out on you guys yesterday, I went to his office and yelled at him.  I don’t know why he brought the wine, it’s not like I ever want to face him again.”

 

Travis and Jordan looked at each other.  “JR, man, unless he called your mother a whore in the paper, I think this is a pretty classy move.” Travis put in.

 

“Was there a note, what did it say?” Jordan added.

 

“Yeah, there was a note.”  JR produced it from his pocket and handed it to Travis, while Jordan craned over Travis’ shoulder to read it.

 

“Please tell me you are going to call him.  Just call and thank him, and see if he says anything else.” 

 

“JR, the guy was hot.  He brought you wine.  He said he’s sorry, and you guys aren’t even dating.  The last guy you dated drank Bud Light, and didn’t even apologize after he ruined your favorite shirt. Call the guy.  But wait until tomorrow.”

 

It actually wasn’t until Saturday that JR could make the call, because he felt like it would be a cop out to call when he knew Apolo would be at work, and then he had the dinner shift Friday.  So with Jordan and Travis listening at the door, he dialed the number on the back of the card.

 

After a couple of rings, Apolo picked up.  “This is Apolo.” He said.  JR felt his mouth go dry and suddenly he couldn’t believe he had yelled at this guy and now was calling him hoping for a date.  “Hello?” Apolo said again.

 

“Um, hey Apolo, this is JR.  I just wanted to thank you for the gift.  It, uh, was nice.” JR finished lamely and wished he could stuff his face in his pillow. He felt a little better when Apolo’s voice seemed a little less confident on the other end.

 

“Yeah, well, I wanted to make it up to you, and I seem to recall you might like a sweeter white.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s good.  So…thanks.”  Should he say good bye?  Would it seem like he was fishing to keep talking?

 

“No problem.”

 

Neither of them spoke for an awkward moment, and then they both spoke at once.

 

“Well, I have to—“

 

“Um, would you like—“

 

They both laughed a little nervously.  “You first.” JR said.

 

“Well, I was serious about starting over.  I don’t really know anyone in the Bay Area yet, and I usually cook dinner for my friends Sunday night.  And since I don’t have any friends yet, if you wanted to come over, that would be nice.”

 

“Um.  Yeah, the restaurant is closed Sundays.  I could come.”  JR heard some jostling from the hallway. “Mission district?  Okay.  Yeah.  That sounds good.  Thanks. Bye.”

 

When he opened the door, Travis and Jordan were both grinning like idiots. JR rolled his eyes.

 

“He invited me over to dinner, but it didn’t really sound like a date, more like a ‘let’s be friends’ thing.”

 

“Oh come on.  Are other people going to be there?”

 

“No.”

 

“It’s a date, dude.”

 

“Whatever, I have to get to work, have fun watching some Meg Ryan movie and crying like the saps that you are.”  JR headed out the door with a little spring in his step.  Maybe, he thought to himself, it was a date.

 

Sunday afternoon he and the other guys usually went roller blading through Berkeley, a tough, hilly workout that really demanded his concentration, since they tried to keep the speed up.  Going downhill was a rush, and it always felt on the verge of uncontrollably fast, where JR had to concentrate on not wiping out, and then uphill he had to pump himself up for each burning stroke, so he didn’t really have time to get nervous until he was standing in his room wearing only his underwear looking in the closet.

 

How casual should he dress?  I mean, it was just going to a friend’s house for dinner.  Unless it was, like, a candle-lit date dinner, in which case, maybe he should dress up.  He finally settles on a button down shirt with some nice jeans. He looks in the mirror with the shirt untucked, then tucked, then untucked again.  Damn it, he was 22, and Apolo was…well, he didn’t know how old Apolo was, but older, and he should be able to play this cool.  Should he wear cologne?  Was that totally lame?  He settled on spraying it in the air and walking through it like he saw girls do, and then set out.  This time Jordan was on the couch, and seeing JR he let out a wolf-whistle.  “Daayyyum JR, you’re cleaning up nice.  So much for it not being a date.  Are you bringing him flowers?”

 

“Go screw yourself Jordan.  I just didn’t want to look bad….is it really too much?  Fuck.”  He ran his hand through his hair, forgetting he had just spent 15 minutes making it look right.

 

“Dude, I’m just trifling with you, I’m sure he’ll like that you tried to look nice, just go kill it bro.”  With that stellar advice, Jordan unpaused Mario Kart and ignored JR.

 

Apolo had decided to pursue JR after the younger man had left his office and he had thought over what he had said.  So yeah, he had flirted with him, and obviously what he, Apolo, thought had mattered enough for him to come into the city and confront him instead of sending an angry letter or e-mail.  And when he was standing in his office doorway, not in his waiter’s get up, just himself, sexy and confident in being right, Apolo had suddenly wished so badly that he had been just some scholar and he could’ve just called the phone number on the receipt, and asked him out and then JR would have just come to his office to tell him to stop working so hard and make him enjoy the afternoon after the fog had burned off and before the smog had set in.

 

So somewhat impulsively he had bought the wine, written the note, charmed one of the fact-checkers into finding JR’s address and figured that if JR never called, at least he could feel better about having lied. Then he had been surprised by how glad he was that JR had called, he had decided to make the meticulous meal that now was taking longer than he expected.  And then their was a knock.

 

When Apolo answered the door, he was still wearing a pair of ratty jeans, a frayed t-shirt and had a bandana on to keep his hair out of his face.  He had planned on taking a shower, taming his hair into something more presentable, and doing his best to look hot, but his first batch of short grain rice had burnt, and the tempura had been trickier than he had remembered, and he had realized when he only had thirty minutes before JR was supposed to arrive that maybe he had decided to try to make too many different kinds of sushi, and now that had to be JR at the door, a thoughtful ten minutes late, and he looked like crap.  He was torn between trying to at least put a dress shirt on top, but that would make JR wait too long at the door, so he went ahead and opened the door.  Fuck, he looked good.  Slim jeans and a charcoal grey oxford emphasized his height and that he had that sexy shoulder-to-hip ratio that made Apolo want to run his hands up and down his sides to feel the angle.  And now he was staring.  Even if he looked bad he could be a good host.

 

“Hey, JR, thanks for coming.  I’m a little behind, so I didn’t have time to change, but you look really great.”  Smooth Apolo.  If you were planning on keeping this slightly-less-than-date-like you just failed, he thought.  He let JR pass him and showed him to the living room, which had a great view, being on the fourth floor. 

 

“Hey, great apartment.” JR said taking in the minimalist furniture. 

 

“Yeah, ever since I moved out of my Dad’s place, he always comes by to make sure my house is all feng shui and rearranges my stuff, so I finally just went along with it and now I try to keep everything pretty basic.”  Apolo led JR to the coffee table where there was edamame and sake.  “Um, I have some Japanese beer too.  I’m half Japanese, so that’s kind of the theme of the meal.”

 

“No, sake is fine.  I was going to return the favor and bring some wine, but since I didn’t know what I was pairing it with, I came empty handed instead.  My mom would flip out if she knew I didn’t bring the host something, but, whatever.”  JR shrugged and then flashed that bright smile again, and Apolo felt his face relax into a grin too.  Probably a dorky one, Jesus, was he 15 or 30?

 

Apolo decided the sushi would keep, and sat down in a chair to the left of the couch he had gestured JR to, and as he poured their sake and they went through the awkward motions of squeezing out the edamame, suddenly he felt like this might work.  Once he got over being glad JR had agreed to see him, Apolo had suddenly been struck by all sorts of other worried, like what if they had nothing in common, what if once they were in the same room eight years seemed like an insurmountable gulf, what if JR didn’t even show up, but now those fears were fading.  They talked about places they had lived (JR: SoCal and NorCal, Washington, Utah; Apolo: Washington, New York, Utah, a short stint in Vegas, and now San Francisco) and the differences between their lives growing up (JR: mom, dad, two brothers, dogs; Apolo: only child of a single parent), and then they moved to the dinner table and JR’s eyes got huge as he took in all the work Apolo had done to make homemade ramen and five or six different rolls of sushi, just for the two of them.

 

“Wow, this looks amazing, it must have taken forever.”  JR said, scooting his chair in and picking up his chopsticks.

 

Apolo suddenly was embarrassed by his efforts, like it was all too much, he was obviously trying too hard, and he rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting JR’s eyes.  “Well, I like food, so when I cook I like to do it right.”  When he glanced back up, JR’s eyes weren’t on his face either, but glued to where Apolo’s shirt had ridden up when he reached behind his head.  Well.  That was promising too.  JR’s eyes jerked guiltily back to Apolo’s face as he joined JR, sitting across from him.  Apolo felt more in control of himself, and divided the rolls, giving JR a couple pieces of each.

 

“So let’s dig in.”  He flashed JR his best charm smile, and the meal passed in good conversation, punctuated with JR’s extravagant compliments about the food.  They finished with green tea ice cream on the small balcony, each eating slowly, as if after they finished the ice cream, there would be no reason to linger any longer.  But finally, they were both done.  It didn’t matter.  Somewhere along the way, they had gotten onto the topic of music, and it seemed like JR could stay on the topic forever.  Apolo felt like he might like that and so kept encouraging him to go.  Now he was talking about some band called Over the Rhine.

 

“I mean, once you hear Karin open her mouth, you just feel like you’ve been transported into a speakeasy where everyone is smoking handrolled cigarettes and drinking bourbon.  It makes you want to melt, and the lyrics are just…so lyrical, even when they don’t mean anything, they make you feel something, you know?”

 

He looked so earnest, and even though Apolo really didn’t know, he nodded, just to make JR smile.

 

“Um, and they are actually going to be in town this week, at the Fillmore.  I already got the night off from work, and Travis and Jordan have no appreciation for music without a pounding bassline, so if you wanted to come, that would be cool.” 

 

Apolo found himself agreeing, although he tended to think that music was what could be danced to, not what could be nodded along with, but he had drank a lot of sake, and JR’s eyes seemed brighter, and dimples deeper, and he was pretty sure that if he had suggested they go hang gliding, he would’ve agreed to that too.

 

Finally, JR looked at his watch and said that if he didn’t leave soon, he would catch the train back, and there was some hesitation at the door, but Apolo just goes for it, and tilts his head up to kiss JR’s soft lips, and JR’s hands clench at his sides, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Apolo thinks it’s probably the best first kiss he’s ever had, and JR seems to enjoy it too, because it definitely goes beyond the technical definition of first kiss into first make out session, but finally Apolo realizes that he either needs to invite him to stay over, or let go of his hips, and looking at the young, flushed face, decides on the latter, and watches him walk away, having promised to see him on Wednesday at the show.

 

At first Apolo had been a little uncomfortable listening to a throaty woman sing while her husband played a huge piano, but when he was midway through his second beer, and JR slipped his hands around his waist and tucked his chin on Apolo’s shoulder, it suddenly seemed worth it.  And as he relaxed, suddenly he started to enjoy it more, and feel less out of place amid all the hipsters with their chunky glasses (JR was wearing them too, but Apolo kind of found it sexy, just like he was finding everything else about JR), and more like he was just a guy on a date with a sexy younger man.  So when Linford encouraged them to dance, Apolo turned around and pulled JR close and began to step in time to the music, and JR looked both surprised and delighted, so that Apolo didn’t worry that they were one of very few dancing couples, because he was pretty sure the smile was worth it.  After listening to a couple hours of crooning, the show is over, and JR is so excited he can’t stop talking about how much he loved the way Karin and Linford eyefucked during ‘Trouble’ and he grasped Apolo’s hand and twirled around, eyes shining while they walk to the BART station.  They get there and JR, who’s lived in the area for so much longer, explains the best way to get back to his apartment, and before he can think better of it, Apolo asks if he would rather just come back to his place for the night.

When Apolo blurts out that finding his way home would be easier if JR just came with him and spent the night, JR isn’t really sure what kind of invitation it is.  The sexy kind?  And should he have sex on a second date?  He wants to, sure, Apolo is gorgeous and sexy and both their dates have been way better than expected, but still.  Then he looks at Apolo’s face, and he sees a twinge of fear in Apolo’s light brown eyes, fear that JR will say no, and so JR says sure, he’ll spend the night. Apolo smiles and runs a hand through his hair (JR is starting to realize this is a reassuring gesture for Apolo) and they both act a little awkward on the way back to Apolo’s apartment, because they’ve basically agreed they are about to have sex, but now have a train ride to think about whether it will be good or bad, all while talking about how neither has played an instrument, but Apolo would like to play bass and JR would like to learn to play piano. 

 

When they get to Apolo’s apartment, they are barely through the door before they are suddenly kissing, and JR manages to kick off his shoes and pull Apolo’s shirt off before they’ve even gotten down the hallway. 

 

“God, I’m so glad you said yes.” Apolo gets out between kisses.  “I’ve been thinking about you all week, and I swear you look more gorgeous than I remember.” 

 

JR had gotten his shirt off too, so that Apolo could see his tattoo for the first time.  He traced his fingers over the design, and looked at JR questioningly.

 

“Pinoy and Polish flags.  My heritage.”  JR says before Apolo—FUCK—started to lick the design, pausing to give his nipple extra attention.

 

Apolo then led him to his bedroom, which is just as bright and carefully understated as the rest of the apartment, only with an enormous bed. 

 

Apolo seemed to get his bearings once he was faced with JR actually in his bedroom, because he looked at JR with serious eyes.  “Um, this is probably obvious, but I want to have sex with you, full on, my cock in your ass sex.  And I would be okay with, you know, just frotting or jerking each other off, but, uh, I guess I should go ahead and ask what you want.”

 

JR’s dick twitched at the thought of Apolo naked and needy, preparing him.  “Yeah.  Yeah.  I want that too.”

 

Apolo gave a sigh that was half of a laugh and half relief, and took off his shoes and jeans, revealing a bulge in his boxers, then grabbed JR’s belt loops and pulled him so that they fell on the bed together.

 

JR felt like he must be pressing the slightly-smaller man into the bed uncomfortably, but Apolo seemed content to have JR on top of him for the moment, and while JR propped himself up on his forearms, Apolo ran his hands over his back, dipping into the waistband of his pants.

 

“You were right, as soon as you came to my table, I wanted you, and you were so fucking adorable with your big eyes and smile that it killed me to think that my review might hurt you.”  He buried his face in JR’s shoulder, biting the juncture there lightly, before starting to kiss his way up the side to JR’s ear.  “And then you came into my office, and called me out on it…and thanks for giving me a chance.” He nipped at JR’s ear, and gripped his ass more firmly as he ground up against him.

 

JR moaned, it had been a while since he had gotten laid, and Apolo’s hot breath and tongue and hands were driving him crazy.  Placing a kiss on the center of Apolo’s chest, he sat back on his haunches and unbuttoned his jeans, then laid down to wiggle out of them and kick them off.  He pulled Apolo on top of him, enjoying the feeling of his firm body pressed against his entire length, and enjoying it even more, when Apolo settled so that their hips rested slightly off center, so that their cocks were tight against the other’s thigh.

 

  

  1. Apolo used one of their undershirts to clean them up a little before they fell asleep curled facing one another.
  



 

In the morning, JR woke up slowly, and heard the shower running.  God, he hated that the shower was so loud in his room, and that Jordan woke up so early.  Then as he rolled over, he realized he wasn’t in his bed, he was in Apolo’s, and as he stretched out against the empty space, feeling a pleasant soreness, that Apolo, not Jordan, was the one in the shower.  Squinting at the clock, he saw that it was still early, and he rolled his face into the pillow and fell back to sleep.

 

When Apolo came out of the shower, JR was sprawled across most of the bed, his back mostly bare, and his hair messily spread across the pillow.  Apolo loved it.  There were few things as sexy as seeing your recently-fucked lover in your bed, and as he pulled on his pants, shirt, tie, and finally jacket, he kept turning to look at JR.  Finally, checking his watch, he knew he only had a few minutes before he had to get to work, so he sat on the side of the bed, and kissed JR’s shoulder, as he shook him awake. JR smiled sleepily and for an instant Apolo considered screwing work and taking his suit back off to have another go, but he was still new to the job, and really couldn’t.

 

“Mmm, ‘Polo.”  JR mumbled in a gravelly voice. 

 

“Good morning sunshine.” He replied, smoothing JR’s hair.  “I have to get to the office, but you’re welcome to stick around as long as you want and help yourself to breakfast, there’s coffee in the kitchen—Peet’s, not Starbucks—but I need to get to work.”

 

JR darted a glance to Apolo’s mouth, and he took the hint and kissed him.  Having a sensitive palate did not go well with morning breath, so he steeled himself for the kiss, but the combination of his cold, mint-flavored mouth, and JR’s warm, wet mouth seemed perfect. 

 

“So…last night was great, all of it.  Maybe we could get together again this weekend?”

 

JR nodded, and ran a hand lazily up Apolo’s crisp shirtfront, to pull him down for another kiss.

 

Apolo disentangled himself before he really was going to be late, and walked from his apartment to the bus stop with a smile.

 

Since Apolo works days and JR works most nights, they really only get to see each other a couple times a week.  JR goes with Apolo to a few restaurants he’s reviewing and Apolo finds JR’s company isn’t as distracting as he thought it might be, and being on a date is great cover because no one wonders about lovers feeding each other bites off one another’s plates.

 

After JR’s night shifts, it’s usually too late to go into the city, so Wednesday and Sunday nights are the only times they get to spend time together, but Apolo gets bored thinking of synonyms for ‘delicious’ and calls JR during the day to hear the smile in his voice.

 

When they’ve been seeing each other for a little over a month, Apolo goes with JR to hear a band at a bar down the street from JR’s apartment and spends the night, the two of them entwined together on JR’s tiny bed.  JR seems a little embarrassed by his apartment (it does kind of scream ‘college!’ with the haphazard pile of video game controllers and Travis’ giant Tony Hawk poster) compared to the adultness of Apolo’s.  The walls are paper thin, and even though they were trying to be quiet (in that we’ve-had-too-much-to-drink way), Jordan pounds on the wall, and Apolo had to bite down on JR’s shoulder to stay quiet as he came.

 

The next morning, Apolo was making coffee in his boxers, grimacing at the state of the coffee pot before finding a French press that was more to his liking, when one of JR’s roommates stumbled into the room, scratching his ass.  It was the one who usually had the backwards hat on, who had answered the door when Apolo brought over the wine.

 

“Dude, so we finally get to see you.”  He pulls a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and drinks straight from the container.  “Other than skating we barely see JR any more, but he seems happy.”  He puts the OJ back and wiped his mouth.  “Good job man.”

Before Apolo can make any kind of reply, he shuffles off again, and judging from the sounds in the other room, starts playing video games, then was joined by the other roommate, so that while Apolo carefully plunges the coffee, all he can hear is male bonding.  Looking through the meager supplies of the fridge, he pulls some stuff out and began to poach a few eggs.  By the time, JR slides his arms around Apolo’s chest and rests his chin on his shoulder, Apolo has made the closest thing this apartment has ever seen to eggs benedict, and when all four of them are eating it at the table, JR’s roommates keep taking bites and then looking at him with wonder. 

 

“Okay, I forgive the sex noises, this is worth it.  I’m about to make my own sex noises right now.”  Jordan proclaims, making Travis laugh and JR blush.

 

In the kitchen, looking at the stupid toilet humor phrases made out of word poetry on the fridge, and taking in that the quality of beer was far higher than the quality of cheese, Apolo had felt suddenly like maybe he was too old for JR, that if this was JR’s natural environment, Apolo might not fit in, but now, as JR grabbed his hand under the table, and Travis and Jordan started making small talk he thought maybe they fit together okay.

 

Christopher closes Fil-Am for a week of vacation around the end of the summer, so Apolo invites JR to come with him to Napa for a week while he attends the crush parties.  They dress up and go to the French Laundry, where Apolo tells JR that since he isn’t there on business, they should fuck with the waiter so JR can see how the best waiters deal, so they sit on the same side of the booth and ask ridiculous questions about the meal, and JR makes his eyes hugely wide while he pretends to not understand the wine list.  The food is, as expected, spectacular, and they drink two bottles of wine, and the waiter never breaks away from his carefully neutral expression.

 

“See, this guy didn’t even tell us his name because he knows he’ll be so on top of things we won’t need it.”

 

“Apolo, I told you my name so you’d know what to scream later.”  JR grins at the bad line and Apolo laughs too, feeling warm from the wine and JR pressed against his side.

 

They pay the bill with Apolo’s credit card, and the only expression the waiter makes the entire night is when his eyes widen at the name on the card, which makes JR and Apolo grin even more.

 

It’s a great week of sunshine and vineyards, food and wine, lazy morning sex, and dressing up for partes at night.  Neither wants to go back to their two-dates a week schedule in the city. They are sated for the time being late one night and it’s too hot to be too close together, so they are lying next to each other in bed, one leg touching,  and JR is idly twirling Apolo’s hair, when Apolo bites the bullet.

 

“So, I know your lease is up in a few weeks, and Travis and Jordan are moving back to Salt Lake City,” he began, taking a deep breath, “and I thought maybe instead of finding a new place you could move in with me.”

JR shifted to his side, moving his hand from Apolo’s hair because he’s propping himself up with that arm, “Apolo, wow.  I mean, that would be great, and I appreciate the offer, but you know I can’t commute from your place and work nights.  And we both know I don’t want to work at Fil-Am forever, but I can’t really quit my job to live with you.” 

 

Apolo knew that was probably what JR would say.  He sat up, Indian-style, on the messy bed.  “Well, I know that.  But last week my editor—you know Susan is in charge of all the entertainment stuff—told me they were looking for a new music critic and asked if I knew anyone and I said I might know someone who was interested. And it’s been established that you aren’t the world’s best waiter, so…”  He had been said this staring at JR’s tattoo instead of his face, but now he looked up at his face to gauge his reaction.

 

“You think I could do that?  Write about music?” 

 

“Well, you’d have to cover more than your little indie bands, but yeah, you have a good ear, and you are good at putting how music makes you feel into words.  And you could move into the city.  With me.”

 

JR flopped onto his back again.  “Wow.  Apolo.”  He looked over at him and his voice got a bit heavier.  “You’ve been really thinking about this?  About us being together?”

 

“Um.  Yeah. I want you to live with me, and not just because you need a place once your lease is up.”  With JR’s eyes studying him so intently, he suddenly felt too exposed sitting up, and fell against the bed for a lower profile.

 

JR’s hand snaked out to grab his.  “Okay.  I’ll do it.”

 

Apolo exhaled deeply and squeezed JR’s hand.  Yeah.  This was going to work out.

 


End file.
